Camping on the Delaware turns into adventure

Last week's column left off with our group stranded on the Delaware with darkness closing in. Suddenly, above the rocky cliff, someone yelled down to us, "Paddle to me!"

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By Christina Luna Zabih

poconorecord.com

By Christina Luna Zabih

Posted Aug. 7, 2014 at 12:01 AM

By Christina Luna Zabih

Posted Aug. 7, 2014 at 12:01 AM

» Social News

Last week's column left off with our group stranded on the Delaware with darkness closing in. Suddenly, above the rocky cliff, someone yelled down to us, "Paddle to me!"

Brad Chamberlain looked like Tarzan as he jumped from rock to rock, descending toward the river with his outfitter crew. Someone had heard and relayed one of our calls made by Rose Ann, who became in charge and was the only one who had cellphone reception.

"Get your personal things, and we'll take the boats," he directed. How these guys managed the steep path carrying canoes on their backs was amazing.

We were grateful, but a bit embarrassed for getting lost and having to be rescued at this late hour.

"Don't worry," Brad said, starting the van. "I'll still have time to shower and meet my wife and friends who are playing music on Main Street tonight."

"Our dinner and music will be over by the time we get to camp," somebody lamented.

"Are we still going to the camp?" I asked. "Enough" I thought. "We should just go home."

But they were driving us up river to put us back in the water to paddle back down to the camp. More agony! I wanted to sleep in my own bed.

We paddled over. Sure enough, there were the flags we had missed. We hiked a few minutes through the woods to the camp and, wow, our group had a huge tent with tables, chairs and great food. The music was about to start.

"This is great," I thought. "So this is what camping is all about."

That was until I saw my husband putting up our tent.

"You're kidding, right?" It was the smallest tent I had ever seen. Everyone else had tents that looked like mansions, and ours was the size of an outhouse.

"My head touches the ceiling," I said, crawling in. "And what's that smell?"

"This is my old backpacking tent from when I hiked across the Sierras," he proudly explained. I could tell it hadn't been washed in at least 20 years.

"I can't sleep in this thing," I protested.

"You'll sleep," he assured me.

He was right. I was so tired I did sleep on the hard floor with a rolled towel for a pillow, all the while listening for strange noises outside.

In the morning, we had breakfast, a chance to meet some really interesting fellow campers, then three more hours of paddling before we came in sight of Smithfield Beach.

"How about going on to Portland?" my husband asked. "No!" was my firm reply. I was headed for a shower and a comfy bed and nothing would stop me this time.